


Grounded

by drvology



Category: Batman (Unspecified canon), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drvology/pseuds/drvology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman crosses the line; Dick teaches Bruce a lesson while dragging him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grounded

**Author's Note:**

> B:TAS is my favorite Batverse incarnation; it's become my default setting when imagining the characters &c. That established, I think the fic I write can be aptly labeled 'canon & time nonspecific.'  
> → Written in an hour for 60_minute_fics challenge group @ LJ || 082506 Prompt #1 _PWP Time -- A little smut, but write it where a normally dominate character acts shy and submissive. Or, on the other hand, take a shy wallflower of a character and put them in charge._

Dick shook as he showered, palms flat on the cold cement wall, forehead on his knuckles. The water was hot, almost scalding, pounded at his nape and ran down and down. He'd dropped the soap, couldn't stand to be bothered with shampoo; rage built in him, stoked, fired and burned.

Rage--a clever alter ego for fear--and it was deep in his gut, tasted like bile.

He counted off minutes, excruciating as he breathed one-second-in, one-second-out, thirty each. Ten minutes, not nearly long enough, and he slammed the tap with his fist, cut the water so there was nothing but his too-hard pulse and echoing silence.

The water should hiss and dance off his skin. It should sizzle not even make it to drip from his chin. There should be billows of steam around him, a tangible mask for his anger. Instead he shivered, clutched his arms in his hands crossed over himself, stood there and listened to--felt--the dull disquiet.

The shower had left him skin-sting and without relief; he still ached, bruises and split lip and the dent in his thigh that would distend to a goose egg thanks to being thrown into a carved spike on that very solid stone gargoyle.

Another rooftop chase. Another inky-black night. Another goon--fucking goons--and none of that is what had pissed him off, had his nerves stretched too-thin on edge.

Dick punched the wall _ouch_ pushed away. He stalked through the dressing area, snapped a towel behind him from the fluffy pile Alfred refreshed without ever being reminded. The rest of them listed then toppled onto the floor, terrycloth puddle, and Dick kicked through them and continued on.

Goddamn stubborn bastard knowitall fool.

Goddamn _Bruce_.

Five nights ago it'd been Batman who'd gone flying--no wings or glider or grappling gun--but the oversize menace of Bane, grown fuck knows how many sizes too big, hands like forklifts and every intent to smush all of them. Somewhere in the fray Robin had managed a tranqdart; Batgirl had been radioed, Nightwing's voice anxious and terse _get here fifteen minutes ago because now is too late!_

Robin hadn't been allowed to engage. That was part of the plan, part of the rules. Batman and Nightwing were supposed to keep Bane active, distracted. Robin and his pack of tranquilizers was the brain. He and Bats were there solely for the questionably matched brawn.

Nothing ever goes like it should.

Things that had been before permanent and stationary ripped up, hurtled, Bane stronger than anything ever should be. Things hurtled that slammed into Robin, even askance, knocked him off balance, off purpose, only three darts landed of dozens. That left Batman and Nightwing, vulnerable, Bane madfool grin pumped up all the bigger, all the stronger.

Eventually--really Dick has no clear idea--Batgirl had answered the everything beyond fubar emergency hail, had helped Robin track and deliver the rest of the tranqs. He'd been bashed around this way and that so much by then the world was upside down.

When the rubble cleared--and his head had stopped ringing--Bane was down. So was Batman.

Four cracked ribs. Concussion. Cut requiring thirteen stitches on his right bicep. Bridge of his left foot stomped on, bruised so deep his arch was purple. Knuckles puffy, fingers swollen past mobility. Whole body a beat-up beat-on wreck.

Bruce had pissed blood for three days.

Dick wadded the towel into a ball, held it in his fist and tightened, tightened, bore down. He gritted his teeth and fought screaming aloud.

Tonight he and Robin had been out, patrolled, taken over for Batman until everything healed. Bruce would need a lot more downtime, a lot more recovery. Robin, Batgirl, Nightwing. Plenty. Plenty to keep the streets safe, the bad guys in check, while Batman healed. That was the plan.

Nothing _fucking nothing_ ever went as it should.

Barbara had been at cross-purposes, tied down by Daddy-G at precinct, couldn't get away without raising a lot of eyebrows when Nightwing had chirped-- _we're swamped, soon gonna be more than outnumbered, get your skinny ass over here_. It'd been so long before she'd been able to respond that the fight was over by the time she'd chirped back, apologized, said she'd dispatched some black-and-whites. The best she could offer.

Nightwing had called because Robin had been taken out.

Instead, Batman had come.

Goddammit.

They'd have gotten out of it. Dick had assessed the odds. With Batgirl's help it'd have been better, safer, but without it not impossible. Robin had come to, shaken back the cobwebs. They'd held their own, then gained ground.

Dick didn't bother with a robe; he was hot and cold didn't matter and shit, just fucking shit. Every muscle strained and the towel was still tight in his fist, creaked wet under the pressure.

Bruce sat on one of the medical benches. His head was bowed forward, heavy, tired. He was in nothing but a blanket, white bandage stark-slash around his middle where his ribs were bound. Dark lines criss-crossed his skin. Stitches, old from Bane- stitches, new from tonight. One of his hands was shoved wrist-deep in a bucket of ice.

Batgirl hadn't come, so Batman did.

Dick came to within an inch of Bruce. He glowered, eyes narrow, lips compressed, his whole body pulled long by disapproval and anger and concern.

"You're no good to us in worse shape." Dick laughed sharply. "You were no good to us tonight."

Bruce met his glare, lifted a brow. "There was no one else."

Breath shot from Dick, short-stream. "There are always options."

"Really."

He and Robin had been gaining. They'd have managed it. Hell, even the police would have arrived, offered something. Dick shook his head.

"You weren't any help, Bruce. You were just too slow and too sloppy." His eyes glinted, hard-cold blue. "You'd be no good to us dead."

Bruce sat up straighter, didn't quite hide a grimace. "Not how I saw things."

"Fuck," Dick cursed, low and guttural. "Fucking clearly," he spat.

Fucking Batman. Fucking Bruce. A week after being used as Bane's punching bag and there he was, concrete-set jaw under that dark mysterious cowl, eyes on the prize, never mind it's the cause that's important, the mission, the duty.

Before Bruce could argue--could admonish his cuss--Dick slapped a purple-black shoulder. Bruce grunted in surprise; Dick pushed, climbed, moved until they were on the damn bed, Bruce under him, his weight too much unmoving on top.

Bruce's lashes fluttered. His eyes rolled. A tight hiss, breath, but nothing asked, nothing warned.

Dick was furious. He acted furious.

Gone was the towel, the blanket. He pressed Bruce's hands to hold the edges of the bed. He rolled Bruce beneath away up _back-hip-leg_ hooked a knee on his shoulder and started jacking Bruce's half-hard cock.

He spit into his hand, fisted himself- long hard pulls- slick-wet precome and shower water undried, more spit, more water, then his fingers split Bruce too hard, too much, too unprepared wide.

Two fingers in to start and Dick did not relent. He curled them, hit for pleasure so Bruce would wrack, shudder, torque those protesting ribs.

Dick shot a wad of spit into his palm; three fingers, now.

All the while he had Bruce hard and harder then trembling in his other hand, twist-sure jerks just like Bruce always wanted--would beg for if Bruce begged. Thumbnail rasp the slit, pain exacted to pay for Bruce's enjoyment of this, complete surrender because of this.

Dick shook wildly--all over body uncontrolled--he levered all three fingers up and wide and slid his cock in under them, held, waited.

Bruce grunted. Swallowed. They glared at each other.

Dick triggered his finger. Prod perfect that just-so place. Bruce spasmed, winced, wanted more, needed- fragile under him. He smiled, tight-tease, and stopped buried full-length inside.

Before Bruce relaxed Dick tore his fingers away then began a torrent of movement.

The bed wobbled; Bruce bit his lip, puffy knuckles white, wrapped around the mattress edge.

"Yeah- hurts, doesn't it?" Dick grit-gasped, hips rounding faster, harder. "Know why? Cracked ribs hurt. Especially before they heal."

He was on a roll now, words issuing from him, all his bottled up rage and fever and terror. His fingers were leaving bruises--Bruce's hip, Bruce's cock--and Dick could barely breathe he was fucking so hard.

"Bruises hurt too, still tender, raw. Bet your head is spinning- fucking concussion." Dick arched his back, wrenched side to side. "Head was spinning all night long. You think- you think-" he lowered, chest just above Bruce's, sweat mingle, merciless thrusts. "I- wouldn't- notice-"

Bruce groaned, let his free leg fall wider, caught Dick closer with the press of his thigh on Dick's back.

Dick bared his teeth and gave it even harder.

"Don't- always- have to- dammit-" His words were choppy, rode forward off his tongue as he thrust in, were choked down as he pulled back. His toes gripped into the hard mattress, squeak-slipped until they caught at the corners. Dick lifted- knees, force of his arms, cock into Bruce's ass.

Bruce let him, allowed it, took it.

Dick kept churning, whip-snaps of his hips, thighs and lungs burning. That heat replaced his rage, settled his fear, tasted like salt and Bruce and them. One of Bruce's hands was with his, fought for dominance to get Bruce off. Dick overpowered with speed, with brutal slams of his cock into Bruce; their chests heaved and Dick could hear the distinct catch, the wheeze of lungs labored too far under damaged ribs.

"C'mon- Bruce c'mon- I know it hurts, know it's so good-"

There was nothing but this. The fuck, the pound-pulse, the too-much, the almost-come.

Bruce's hands found him, held him fast, urged; one finger then two pushed up into him, dry and tight and Dick gaped, lost rhythm, teetered on the brink clutched so close too hard so yes I want this to hurt.

It was punishment and reassurance and they both begged.

Dick finished in a blind-seethe, hips thrust-up so hard it almost unseated them. He stilled, vibrated, came with every last ounce of his fury. He ended up with his back curled, forehead on Bruce's abdomen, hand cramped wrist-burn around Bruce's spent cock.

Bruce's hands were all over him, one in his hair, one up and down his spine.

Their heartbeats and breaths deafened him now--so loud, so vital, shared.

"No more," he managed, syllables slow and elongated. "Dammit, no more- like tonight- like-"

Bruce's hand--come and sweat slick scent--caught his jaw, dragged him up for a kiss.

Their lips touched and it melted away, cascaded until Dick was a jumble of used-up and wrung-out and exhausted. He kissed back, sought to hear what he wanted, sought to tell Bruce everything he needed. They rolled onto their sides, Bruce's leg up against Dick's flank calf around back, Bruce's breath a tight hiss- lips open-wet tongues sweet together.

Dick fit himself in, rolled his hips so he fit back inside. Bruce hummed, breathed light through a half-cough. Dick demanded nothing else; Bruce promised nothing.

Bruce's heartbeat slowed under Dick's ear, his head tucked beneath Bruce's chin. It grounded Dick, tethered his fly-away war of emotions. He tightened his arms, nuzzled and licked, adored; he massaged with his fingers and the heat of his leanness all to Bruce's, always for Bruce. His eyes, too heavy, dropped shut as he settled close, close in.

Dick's presence grounded Bruce--literally within him--and as always something deeper, unnamed, a part of him, something that had him kiss soft to Dick's temple again, again, whisper quiet _shhhh now, okay, okay_ , hands bare-tremble holding Dick tender, fierce, to that closeness.

Sleep crashed over them, weary embattled fuck-out oblivion. Unresolved, together. Whole for now, whole once more.


End file.
